Halo: The Age of Reclamation
by Generic Fanfic Writer 101
Summary: AU. Imagine a universe in which the Covenant came in peace. Unfortunately, peace is a fragile thing and conflict will always find a way to appear...beliefs are shattered, friends become enemies, and age-old truths are revealed to be lies.
1. Prologue: Politics

A/N: Well, this is my very first story…correction, first _fan fiction_ made by yours truly. I know how most people hate author notes, so I'll try to keep this brief.

For those who don't know the proper names of the species that make up the Covenant: (and if you don't, what are you even doing here?):

San 'Shyuum=Prophet

Sangheili=Elite

Jiralhanae=Brute

Lekgolo=The small worm-like creatures that make up Hunters

Reclaimer=Human

Kig-Yar=Jackal

Unggoy=Grunt

And for those of you who have a better grasp of the HALO mythology but still might find themselves confused:

The Minister of Fortitude was what the Prophet of Truth was called before he became the Prophet of Truth. Same for the Vice Minister of Tranquility (also known as) the Prophet of Regret. And the Philologist is the position the Prophet of Mercy used to hold before he became a High Prophet.

Mendicant Bias is the AI created by the Forerunners in the final stages of the Flood/Forerunner war. He is a Contender class AI (not sure whether it was called Contender-class or not) that was built to combat Gravemind, but he later turned rampant and led the Flood fleets against his makers. Long story short, he was stalled by his brother Offensive Bias (another AI built by the Forerunners) long enough for them to activate the HALOS and briefly wipe out all life in the Galaxy. All you need to know for this story is that a fragment of him got onto the Dreadnought powering High Charity. If you're curious and wish for further info, please refer to the HALO Wikia. And to put a stop onto my insane rambling, onto the story!

* * *

**Halo: The Age of Reclamation**

* * *

Prologue: Politics

"_For eons I have watched. Listened to you misinterpret. This is not _reclamation_, this is _reclaimer_._"

—Mendicant Bias

23rd Age of Doubt

High Charity – Private Chambers of the Minister of Fortitude

"Heresy." The San 'Shyuum's voice echoed through the chamber. He was staring out of a small window into the vast void of space, watching a Seraph make its patrol around High Charity. Shining stars made glimmering specks of light appear throughout the murky blackness. One could almost stare, transfixed, for hours at the beauty of Space. It was a humbling and awesome sight, and anyone who looked out would be struck by a sense of how insignificant they were in the grand scheme of things. That didn't mean the grandeur of the holy city of the Covenant was diminished in any way, however, quite the contrary. The artificial light generated by High Charity itself was like a glimmering beacon that could be seen for miles around. Fortitude continued. "Surely these…Reclaimers cannot be the ancestors of our gods?"

"If there is one thing I have learnt during my long life, it is that Luminations do not lie." Another San 'Shyuum joined the first by the window, his gravity throne humming softly in the still evening.

"Could this…Oracle….this…"Mendicant Bias" possibly be defective? After all, even things made by the Forerunners don't last forever." a third San Shyuum joined the other two. "But brothers, this is a miracle. For so long we have wondered through the depths of space looking for signs from above. Now the Forerunners have gifted our patience with these…Reclaimers."

"You dare to call it a miracle?" The Minister of Fortitude quickly turned to face the Vice Minister of Tranquility. His brown, stubby fingers clenched into fists and his eyes turned to steely grey. The glow coming from the holo-panels on the sides of his ornate gravity throne only made him seem more menacing. "Imagine what would happen to our Covenant if this were to be revealed to everyone tomorrow. Our whole faith, our whole religion, would be seen as a falsehood! These are the ancestors of the Forerunners, and they have not transcended! The masses would revolt and hang us all! We should consolidate our power now and quickly eliminate these Reclaimers. We are blessed enough for the time being, seeing as those Lekgolo worms somehow managed to short-circuit the Oracle."

"Perhaps there is another way." the Philologist interjected. "Maybe the Forerunners left their descendants for a reason. These Reclaimers could be meant as…guides, and lead us to the Halos, perhaps with time they could even make a worthy replacement for the….Sangheili."

At the mention of the Sangheili, Fortitude hissed quietly. It was well known to anyone that met him that he harbored no love for them. "The Sangheili…" he whispered softly. "Are a species splintered by heresy and derision. The Jiralhanae are much more obedient and loyal. Their blind faith as well as their brutal enthusiasm is so much easier to manipulate, while the Sangheili might question. And I have not forgiven them for spilling the blood of our ancestors."

"I share your sentiments Fortitude," Tranquility said. "But," he continued on, "They make excellent strategists. In a war, it would not be so wise to so quickly rid ourselves of that asset."

"They have out-lived their usefulness in my eyes. I will argue no more. I am weary of this talk. Direct action would be preferred." Fortitude motioned to the Philologist. "What do you propose we do with the Reclaimers?"

The Philologist paused, before wearily reciting the opening lines of the Writ of Union;

"So full of hate were our eyes,  
That none of us could see,  
Our war would yield countless dead  
But never victory.  
So let us cast arms aside.  
And like discard our wrath.  
Thou, in faith, will keep us safe,  
Whilst we find The Path."

The Philologist sighed. "While our Path is no more, perhaps we can still make use of the Writ of Union. No one can deny that our alliance with the many species that make up the Covenant has proved to be very prosperous. I think that we should offer them a chance to join. They are, after all…Forerunner. And with The Path a legend at best, it would be wise to keep as many allies as possible. "

Fortitude lapsed into silence. Tranquility took it as a good sign that he was at least willing to listen.

The Philologist continued. "Furthermore, we need a complete restructuring of the Covenant. I feel that most would be in complete uproar once this gets out."

Fortitude snorted. "All the more reason to eliminate the Reclaimers. I simply do not see why we should bother with overtures of peace when we clearly have the military might to bring them down quickly. The Luminations marked them as a Tier 3 species. We are at Tier 2. I should mention that the Prophet of Obligation sent out a small missionary ship to scout out the planet, after some of them managed to trap, board, and eliminate almost everyone on board a Kig-Yar vessel. Their weapons are quite primitive and fire some sort of metal, not unlike the Jiralhanae, and the population on the planet that was located is less than three million. These...Reclaimers have already attempted to communicate with us with some primitive pictograms. They want to parley with us at dawn. Surely we can launch a surprise attack and quickly burn them to the ground."

"We may burn them to the ground, but we would be no better off!" The Philologist thundered. Then he relaxed and spoke more softly. "We may be ashamed to admit it, but nothing new, sacred, or worthy of our attention has come up in these Ages of Doubt. We could learn from these Reclaimers, and I feel that with something to distract them, the Covenant could become more zealous. Discontent is spreading. This new find could re-focus our troops, boost morale, and fill all adherents to our faith with a religious zeal."

Fortitude knew the Philologist was right, and hated him for it. But he knew that peace would be much more beneficial for the long term. And if there was anything Fortitude could be praised for, it would be his foresight.

"We have to act quickly, however." Tranquility finally spoke. "The Jiralhanae Chieftain Maccabeus is currently holding the survivors of the attack on his ship, and is awaiting further orders from me. While they are disciplined, I doubt they will be able to resist the allure of finding..."relics.", Fortitude, I'll need to borrow some of your Huragok to recalibrate the Luminaries again."

"We can worry about fixing the Luminaries later. What happens if they…decline…our generous offer?"

"Then we do what we have always done: their world, their ships, and their people can burn until they become desperate and give in. But there remains one question: how much of our findings should we share with these Reclaimers?

"We should share most, if not all. Being ancestors, perhaps they know how to decipher some artifacts and put the technology to good use."

"It would be heresy to allow them to-" Tranquility began, before being rudely cut off by Fortitude.

"As you so kindly pointed out, they are Forerunner. Now, there only remains the question of how long we keep up this deception. Once the time comes that we have no more need of their…assistance, they will be quickly eliminated."

"What if their military is strong and capable enough to resist?" the Philologist asked.

"And is it truly wise to give them our technology?" Tranquility interjected.

"From what we have seen, they are confined to one world and only have a handful of ships, if not only one. Their planet seems to mainly focus on agricultural gains, and while they seem to have some form of kinetic defense platforms and a small military, we vastly outnumber them." Fortitude replied. "And in the unforeseen event that they prove to not be as weak as they appear, I have a contingency plan." He smiled. Fortitude always had a plan for everything. His ambition and megalomania wouldn't be curtailed even when he became a High Prophet, however.

"What should we tell the Covenant?" Tranquility asked. Outside, another Seraph on patrol duty looped around the central spire of High Charity. The view of so many ships, so much military might concentrated into one area was intoxicating. One command and hell could be unleashed. Tranquility secretly wondered if now that the religious belief of Transcendence had been severely undermined, Fortitude would settle merely for control of all the client species of the Covenant. Instinct told him otherwise.

Fortitude laughed derisively. "If you tell a lie, no matter how absurd, and repeat it enough, the masses will believe. Who would doubt us, the Prophets? After all, have everything we have foretold not come to pass? After we launch the coup and remove Restraint, Tolerance, and Obligation from power, our word becomes law. We have begun a new era. We have entered the Age of Reclamation. With the help of these…Reclaimers, we shall find and discover just what happened to the Forerunners."

"When?" That simple question was met with a heavy silence. The Philologist, slightly deterred and unnerved by the lack of response, continued. "Maccabeus is near the Reclaimer planet. We can't afford to delay any longer, and by the Forerunners, who knows what Obligation, Tolerance, and Restraint will do once they find out."

"We can wait a little longer." Fortitude sneered. "Those senile old fools don't pose a threat to our plans. Starting a war isn't the highest of their priorities. To answer your question, Philologist, tomorrow. Tomorrow we take control of the Covenant."

Fortitude started to move his gravity throne toward the exit. The Philologist started to follow him, but a swift nudge from Tranquility made him stop.

"Fortitude is insane." Tranquility quickly whispered, his eyes flashing dangerously. "If he makes one wrong move, will you support me?" The question hung in the air ominously. Then the Philologist inclined his head. That was all that was needed. They had come to an understanding. Both soon-to-be High Prophets glided through the exit. Neither would suspect that Fortitude was already one step ahead.

But even Fortitude himself would not be able to predict what would happen to the Covenant, nor the magnitude of the events that the Reclaimers would set in motion. No one knew, no one even _suspected_ that the galaxy itself would be changed irrevocably in the coming months.

* * *

A/N: Well, I hope this brief prologue grabbed your attention. Future chapters will without a doubt be longer. Constructive criticism is welcome, of course. I'll probably have to re-write this whole first chapter in the future because I still haven't managed to get a beta-reader. That's all for now!


	2. Chapter 1: Welcome to Harvest

Chapter 1: Welcome to Harvest

* * *

UNSC COLONY WORLD HARVEST, EPSILON INDI SYSTEM, FEBRUARY 21st, 2525

* * *

It was quiet. Almost too quiet. The alien ship had been hovering over the planet for more than a week now, and tensions were high. Sergeant Avery Johnson had been assigned to keep guard during the parley, but there had never been a parley. The aliens simply had decided not to come, or had misunderstood the pictogram. Either that or they were scrutinizing just how best to raze the planet and its inhabitants to the ground, but Johnson preferred not to think of it that way.

Instead, he looked at the dwindling orange light signaling another beautiful sunset for Harvest, focusing on the strange and mysterious vessel that blotted out parts of the skyline with an almost obsessive fascination. He had never been expected to be one of the first to make contact with an advanced alien civilization.

But as his thoughts suddenly veered away, back into the past, and as he reflected on the guilt, sadness, and calm tragedy that permeated all too painfully throughout, part of him didn't want to shoulder the knowledge that there was a possibly hostile force out there in the universe besides his fellow man. Deep inside, he was emotionally exhausted and tired beyond belief. The war against the Insurrection, against his fellow kind, had all too soon stripped him of the values and beliefs that he used to hold so highly.

Through countless battles he had stared at the darkest side of humanity, and realized much too late that he had become what he had fought against for so long. There was always an old weary voice at the back of his head whispering, telling him to quit. Desert the military, desert what little remained of his dignity, and just leave. Find a nice corner of the galaxy where he would keep away from everyone and face his heavy burdens alone.

Everything had changed when he made first contact, though. In the bloodshed of war, he had never really thought about the possibility of others in the universe. For him, the war had been everything, a maw of chaos and tragedy and violence that sucked his whole self in and threw him back out again and again. But now there were others, and at last, at long last, Sergeant Avery Johnson had finally found his purpose on Harvest. He knew that if the aliens attacked again on a much larger scale, the Insurrection that he had fought in for so long would pale in comparison to the strife and agony sure to follow. So he would train the latest generation. Teach the youth how to fight, use the tools of warfare, and protect their families.

In the coming years of war Humanity would be at its darkest point. But for now, Sergeant Avery Johnson was content to know what his purpose was and to be the reliable Sergeant that so many needed him to be. And so, with a small smile and a lit cigar, he watched the sun slowly set and bring in darkness, as well as a time for rest.

* * *

When I die please bury me deep!  
Place an MA5 down by my feet!  
Don't cry for me, don't shed no tear!  
Just pack my box with PT gear!  
'Cuz one early morning 'bout zero-five,  
the ground will rumble, there'll be lightning in the sky!  
Don't you worry, don't come undone!  
It's just my ghost on a PT run!

- UNSC Marine Crops Marching Chant

* * *

The sun wasn't up when Private Jenkins was woken up by a burst of static from his radio. As he blearily rubbed his eyes and stood up he realized he was still in his militia uniform. Looking around, he realized he had fallen asleep in the main barracks. It had been very late before he and the rest of the recruits were let off, and so when he saw the time he couldn't help but let out a soft groan. He had managed to get a little over four hours of sleep since Avery and Ponder had revealed the existence of the aliens.

"Jenkins, get the hell off your bunk and report!"

"Speak of the devil." Jenkins thought. He winced in pain when a burst of static accompanied Captain Ponder's angry voice. Rubbing some circulation into his wrist he quickly grabbed his radio and sat up straight.

"I'm here." he muttered.

"Of course you are Private, I can hear your god damn snoring all the way from here." Ponder snorted. Jenkins could only chuckle when he heard the venom and sarcasm infused voice pour out of the radio. "Anyways, wake up everyone and get in the mess. Johnson will be here shortly, he's been helping set up banners, tables, cameras, and what not for our esteemed governor Thune. Lt. Commander al-Cygni and Staff Sergeant Bryne are with Thune too, but both won't show up till later today. Spook's business and all that."

Thune, although technically highest in command on Harvest, was slightly detested by Ponder and the other UNSC troops. He was a bit of an idealist, and so it was hard enough for anyone to convince him that the aliens could declare war instead of coming in peace. It made the job of defending Harvest properly against an invasion just a little bit harder, but he was sure if push came to shove, Ponder, Avery, and Lieutenant Commander al-Cygni would easily incapacitate the governor for a little bit.

"I'm on my way sir." he replied, knowing that Ponder was probably preparing to yell at him for not responding, and he slowly thumbed off the radio. Forgetting that he was on a bunk, he tried to sit up all the way and quickly banged his head on bed above him. Letting out a string of curses, he sat down softly onto the floor mat and held his head until the pain subsided. He was greeted instantly by a muffled snore. The private, not in the mood for any games, attempted to shake Forsell awake. A small hitch in breathing, coupled with what sounded like a startled cough was all that was needed to prove to Jenkins that he was indeed awake.

Jenkins waited while Forsell oriented himself.

"What's going on?" he asked, getting off the bunk and grabbing a water canteen.

"Ponder's orders. We gotta report to the mess hall." Jenkins replied briskly. "It's probably more news about the aliens."

At this, Forsell frowned a bit.

"The UNSC has been colonizing for years, without making contact with any aliens. Eight hundred worlds, and it's out here, on the fringe of known space that we bump into them. Do you think they could come in peace?" Forsell asked thoughtfully.

Jenkins smirked, and replied jokingly: "Why don't you ask the guy that Johnson shot to pieces before blowing up his ship?"

Forsell chuckled and got up. He nodded to Jenkins, before continuing in a more ominous tone: "Hopefully your sharpshooting skills are still there. Lord knows we'll need it."

Jenkins nodded back and started to head down to the mess hall. It didn't take long before they got into earshot of Ponder, who was angrily berating another recruit, whom Jenkins recognized as Osmo. Jenkins would later learn that Osmo had forgotten to put the safety of his rifle back on after a training exercise, and had nearly killed a fellow militia man by misfiring.

"Yes sir! I know sir!" Osmo half-heartedly saluted while Ponder continued yelling at his sloppiness. He took a deep breath before interjecting: "But I didn't sign up for this."

Ponder froze. Wheeling around, he could only stare in shock.

"This is the first thing that could pose a danger to this planet, and all you can think about is how you didn't sign up for this?"

"You don't understand…" Osmo replied in a timid voice.

A quiet hush fell over the room and the rest of the militia began to listen in. Ponder immediately noticed and raised a hand, cutting off whatever Osmo was going to say.

"We've been over this already, and Avery has too. Does it really make any difference whether you are fighting Innies, aliens, or any other threat?" Ponder paused, deep in thought.

"Let me make this very clear to all of you." He turned to face the assembled group.

Marching back and forth, he stared at every single recruit straight in the eyes, one at a time. A cold, expressionless mask adorned his face, and when he finally spoke, half the recruits were already scared out of their wits.

"Each and every single one of you signed up for this. Most of you had assorted reasons for joining, but it all boils down to one single thing: to defend your home. I don't care if you desert tomorrow. I don't care if you can't take the stress and just blow your brains out. You are fighting not just for this planet, NO! You are fighting for your families, and if that doesn't motivate you well enough, maybe the fact that you could possibly be fighting for your very lives will."

Ponder began to pace around angrily.

"The enemy that we might face is obviously powerful. From what we have seen from Avery's recording, it was just a small ship, no doubt some sort of small barge or scouting ship, and so it wasn't much of a victory. Let me tell you something though, so your naiveté doesn't get the better of you.

"One: they are more advanced than us tech-wise, which is frightening if you consider the implications.

"Two: From our reconnaissance of the alien ship hovering in orbit during these past weeks, it appears as if they heavily out-gun us. There are multiple, multiple armaments attached to the ship, and we can only guess as to what they do.

"Three: We have reason to believe, that since this ship is not the first to appear, that they could inhabit as much space as we do, and thus, have the numbers to pose not only a threat to this colony world, but to ALL UNSC worlds."

Dead silence filled the room. Tensions had been brewing for days, but now that Ponder had laid out some hard truths, everyone knew what was at stake.

Johnson, who had been watching all this from the doorway the whole time, took the silence as his cue to enter. Taking a couple steps into the mess hall, he said in a soft voice: "He's right."

Hushed whispering started to break out among the recruits, before Johnson said in a much louder voice: "Ponder is right."

The recruits all nodded, and Osmo looked down in shame.

Osmo raised his hand, and Johnson gestured to give him permission to speak.

"What will the UNSC be doing about this?"

Two months ago, if Johnson had been asked the very same question by any recruit, he would have been shocked beyond belief. The Innies had caused most people in the outer colonies to be very mistrusting of the UNSC in general, and any whispers about fleet mobilization would result in protests and revolting. Now, faced with the very possible threat of a hostile alien civilization, rebellious attitudes towards the United Nations Space Command would naturally die down and peter out. At least until the threat was over. One could almost laugh at the horrible irony of it all.

Putting on a mask of bravado for the recruit, Johnson replied in the most confident voice that he could manage.

"Lieutenant Commander al-Cygni has already sent a sloop towards Reach. The UNSC will start to mobilize as soon as the recordings get to HighCom or ONI. Our evacuation plan has been gone over countless times. We're ready."

Audible sighs of relief were heard from all over the room. Of course, Johnson didn't mention that it would take the sloop three months of non-stop traveling to get to Reach, and the likelihood of military reinforcements if things went bad here were close to nil. Holding out for so long in a possible hostile engagement would simply not be feasible.

Harvest was, simply put, one of the worst planets to stage a battle on. Far from the Inner Colonies, as well as the Outer Colonies, Harvest had no space protection, either from MAC orbital defense platforms or UNSC ships. No anti air besides some mass drivers that at best would only stall an enemy ship. Lots of open ground for snipers, tanks, and other possible enemy vehicles. And to top it all off, they only had a militia for a fighting force.

Not that they weren't prepared, as he and Bryne had trained the recruits very well, and Johnson was proud. But as he shot a glance at Ponder and met his gaze, he got a queasy feeling in his stomach, and he couldn't help but start to doubt. No words were spoken. Both of them knew what the other was thinking.

* * *

High Charity High Council Chamber  
-Moment of Ascension-

* * *

"It hadn't been easy." thought Fortitude as a San'Shyuum and Sangheili councilor started to put on his crown and mantle.

He, as well as Tranquility and Fortitude had had to do many things to gain the necessary political capital to launch a bid for the positions of High Prophets. Countless days had been spent constantly scheming, many favors had been used, and many favors had been promised. There had been much coalition building, blackmailing, and compromise. When all was said and done, the three conspirators had been exhausted beyond belief.

"Then again…" thought Fortitude as he gazed upon the rows and rows of cheering Sangheili and San'Shyuum, letting himself be filled up by their ardor. "Perhaps it was worth it."

The Age of Doubt had finally ended. Now the Age of Reclamation had started, and Forerunners pity anyone who stood in Fortitude's way.

Fortitude re-oriented his gravity chair to face his allies and gauge their reactions. The Philologist was looking a tad pale; his crown and mantle both had been very awkwardly hung and he had an expression of distaste, as well as a glare that showed his intent to execute the poor Sangheili who had so horribly mangled his image. Fortitude allowed himself a chuckle at his co-conspirator's expense.

The Vice Minster of Tranquility, on the other hand, smiled benignly at the teeming masses. Being the arrogant creature he was, he was the most relaxed out of all of them.

Tranquility waved his hand to the crowd gathered in the small council chambers, and was slightly bemused when the cheering started up again, louder than before.

Fortitude snorted. Being the fools that his "friends" were, neither seemed to have grasped the idea that with an elevated status came much greater responsibility. They would eventually tire of the day to day sermons and meetings; of this, Fortitude was certain.

According to the holo-pad resting on Fortitude's lap, it would be another ten cycles before High Charity got within reach of the Reclaimer planet. Tranquility, under orders from Fortitude, had sent out a message to the Brute Chieftain Maccabeus currently in orbit around the planet. The message had specifically stated that the Luminary was broken and there were no relics, only a new species waiting to be converted to join the Covenant.

However, no San'Shyuum knew the Jiralhanae as well as Fortitude. And a gut feeling told him that sooner or later the Chieftain would get impatient and make contact.

He was distracted from his musings when a Sangheili councilor approached.

"The entire Covenant... wishes to hear your names" boomed the tall Elite. He bowed, and everyone in the room slowly settled.

Tranquility started to speak, but Fortitude cut him off with a lazy flick of his hand.

"This" Fortitude gestured grandly to the Philologist. "Is the Prophet of Mercy."

"This" Fortitude pointed at Tranquility. "Is the Prophet of Regret."

"And I" Fortitude said with a flourish. "The least worthy of them all, am the Prophet of Truth."

At this loud cheers and roars were heard from all over High Charity. All ships nearby began to re-broadcast the ceremony throughout the fleet, and within another cycle it would reach all known Covenant space.

Years of questioning and doubt had in the end been rewarded by the dawning of a new era. Whether or not the era would be a peaceful and progressive one or one full of bloodshed and war, however, would remain to be seen.

* * *

What is the greater sin, disobedience or desecration?"

—Maccabeus to Dadab

* * *

Obey the Hierarchs or launch a search for the bountiful relics that were on the planet.

This was the dilemma that the Brute Chieftain Maccabeus faced.

An urgent communiqué from the Vice Minister of Tranquility, now the High Prophet of Regret, had told him that his Luminary was defective and there were no relics on the planet, only another species that had yet to be converted to the Covenant.

"But luminaries never lie." thought the Chieftain. "Then again, Prophets don't lie either and are the voice of the gods. So what am I supposed to do?"

Maccabeus had already asked the Unggoy Deacon Dadab on his opinion in this matter, albeit indirectly. The grunt had replied that while it varied on the case, desecration would usually carry harsher penalties.

So Maccabeus was at an impasse. Dammed if he disobeyed the Hierarchs and went after the (possibly) non-existant relics, and forsaken if he didn't and let the aliens desecrate them with their filthy, unknowing hands.

After an hour of brooding he headed out of his quarters and gave the orders to his helmsman to land in the area signified by the primitive pictogram they had seen earlier.

"We will get them to give us the relics." thought Maccabeus with a new resolve. "And if they don't we will force them to."

* * *

After weeks of silence the ship had finally landed. Needless to say, many were anxious and unnerved. The Elysium Gardens were as good a place to conduct negotiations as anywhere else on Harvest, but it was mainly for the benefit of the rookie militia. Few entrances and exits, as well as multiple angles covering the area where the ship would land, meant that the negotiating party consisting of Johnson, Governor Thune, Lieutenant al-Cygni, and Captain Ponder would be able to breath a bit easier.

All that changed when the ramp of the ship opened and out stepped a massive…_ape. _It's glossy-brown fur was covered with what appeared to be armour made of some unknown gold-colored metal, exquisitely crafted and battle-hardy, as Johnson managed to see some faint scratches on the armour. It had broad, powerful shoulders, and massive, well-defined muscles. That was to be expected, considering that the alien in question was holding what appeared to be a massive _hammer. _It's small, black, predatory eyes seemed to be staring straight at Johnson, and it smiled menacingly. Definitely not someone to be messed with. Even the esteemed Governor Thune started to perspire. The nervous chattering on radio-coms among the militia-men started to increase.

And yet, the next alien to step out was a lot less…_intimidating. _It was a small, stout creature wearing what appeared to be a re-breather mask attached to an odd-shaped yellow suit with a cone-like object jutting out the back. It looked at the "head ape" (as Johnson had now labeled) in what he took to be a questioning glance. The head ape nodded, and the _thing_ called out in a squeaky, excited voice. Another one of the creatures stepped out into the open, then another one, then another one, and then another one, and another one…until Johnson, as well as everyone else, lost count.

The hammer-wielding head ape took an appraising glance at the small mob, grunting in satisfaction. It then called out something in it's guttural language, making a motion to whoever was still inside the ship. Out stepped two more of the apes, although neither of them were carrying hammers. Instead, they carried what looked to be short handguns with massive blades attached to the sides. Johnson frowned. Something told him he didn't want to know what the gun used as ammunition. If it came to a firefight it would most likely be pretty messy. The two apes kicked aside the smaller aliens who unfortunately were standing in their path, and both stood proudly next to the head ape.

Finally, the ship's door closed, and the ship itself headed back up into the atmosphere.

The head ape grunted something again, but this time it was directed at the contingent comprising of Johnson, Thune, Ponder, and al-Cygni.

Thune took this to be a welcoming gesture, and, still sweating profusely, whimpered out a hello.

The head ape grunted again, and it's hand reflexively tightened on the giant hammer. A dozen or so milita-men put him in their scopes, and placed their finger on the trigger, waiting for the signal. No mis-fires or panicky shots rang out.

Johnson exhaled slowly. Good. He had taught them well, or at least well enough. He took a glance towards Thune, who, after a moment's deliberation, started to walk to one of the inner rooms of the gardens. He, Ponder, and al-Cygni followed, as well as the aliens. In the room was a table containing a platter of food, all fruits and vegetables, as well as a miniature tablet holo-computer.

Johnson and al-Cygni both shared a look, thinking the same thing. The apes definitely weren't vegetarians. Their intention had been to put the aliens at ease and showcase Harvest to be an agriculturally diverse land. A pity that they had made the wrong selection of food.

Thune smiled, more to put himself at ease than to put his guests at ease. He grabbed the holo-computer and showed it to the head ape, playing an infomercial for Harvest. The opening orchestral theme of Harvest's anthem warbled out of the pitiful speakers, and an announcer began explaining the history of Harvest.

The head ape looked at the device for a few minutes, but it's fur was beginning to bristle in agitation.

"They're here for something." al-Cygni commented to Johnson, while the aliens were distracted. Johnson nodded in agreement.

"But what?" He asked.

Thune, meanwhile, sensed that the aliens were getting impatient and shut off the device. He turned to the fruit basket and picked out a watermelon, hefting it towards the head ape. The ape sniffed it curiously, then took a bite. The governor took that to be a positive sign, and started to talk excitedly to Ponder about the possibilities of inter-species trade, while Ponder nodded politely, keeping a wary eye on the aliens.

One moment, everything was calm. Then all hell broke loose.

"AGHK THEY'RE EVERYWHERE HELP ME HELP M-" Osmo was cut off mid-way speaking through his radio as he died, his warning reaching the militias' and Johnson's ears, and he nodded to Ponder. The aliens in the room, sensing that their prey was aware, growled at each other and began to reach for their weapons.

Ponder reached for his pistol at the same time the head ape started to swing his hammer. Thune, standing stock-still directly in front of the ape, was the first to go. The hammer literally pulverized Thune's body into a bloody mess, leaving nothing behind except a bloody smear.

The milita immediately opened fire with their rifles, and empty shells started to cascade onto the ground. The bullets cut through the small aliens relatively quickly, creating a rapidly widening pool of blue blood, but when Ponder, al-Cygni, and Johnson shot at the head ape, the bullets somehow _pinged_ off.

"That one has some sort of energy shield!" Ponder shouted, hurriedly taking cover behind a barricade as the two other apes opened fire with their strange weapons. "Concentrate all fire on the one with the hammer!"

Even with the combined firepower of the Militias' assault rifles and the pistols carried by the diplomatic contingent, it was not enough to bring down the advanced shielding possessed by the berserk alien. The alien swung again, just barely missing Ponder as the hammer hit and destroyed the wall adjacent with a resounding _BOOM_. The Militia was starting to make some progress, however. The shielding of the golden-armored alien ape was starting to flare up with blue crackles of electricity, and the alien, outnumbered and starting to be outgunned, roared in rage and began to move backwards towards the exit, retreating. His other two ape companions, both without energy shielding, had been easily dispatched, and were lying dead on the ground. Their black, beady, unseeing eyes looked towards the heavens.

As of 1300 hours, the First Battle of Harvest had been initiated.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the massive delay for a horrible chapter. Expect multiple revisions of this [chapter] over the next few weeks.


	3. Chapter 2: Treason

Chapter 2: Treason

* * *

EPSILON INDI SYSTEM - FEBRUARY 22nd, 2525  
UNSC Colony World Harvest - Vionna Territory  
1500 Hours

* * *

"One ape, three o' clock." Forsell whispered, perched on the roof of a building as he looked through his binoculars.

The alien in question seemed to be completely unaware of the presence of the Militia, and it was sniffing around curiously, holding what looked to be purple handheld scanner. It looked to be alone, but Forsell wasn't fooled. This was the tenth ape he and Jenkins had encountered, and he had found, to his distaste, mobs of the little small alien bastards wearing odd re-breather tanks (affectionately termed "Grunts" by the Harvest Militia) were never far behind an ape.

It had only been a mere two hours since the disastrous first contact meeting, and already the majority of the civilian population of Harvest were being escorted to the nearby space elevators, as planned. The area that Jenkins, Forsell, and the alien ape currently inhabited had been abandoned a half hour ago, but Johnson and Ponder had ordered all available marksmen to try and recon the enemy, as well as attempt to distract them and buy valuable time for the civilians to get off-world.

Already, the purple ship the aliens had come in was bombarding the hell out of Eden, where some Militia members had staged an ambush on a particularly large battle group of apes. The preliminary reports coming in from the other recon teams suggested that it wouldn't be too long before the aliens recognized the ruse and decided to attack the space elevators directly. The AIs in charge of Harvest, Sif and Mak, were currently trying to fine tune some old mass-drivers that could be repurposed into a small-scale MAC weapon. Clearing the skies of the alien ship was another important priority.

"I've got him in my sights." Jenkins hissed back. His finger tensed on the trigger, and he was about to pull it when…

"Check fire, check fire!" Forsell hurriedly grabbed his arm. Handing over his binoculars to Jenkins, he pointed over in the direction of ape. Jenkins looked through the lens, adjusting the zoom until he could see that another ape had joined the first one, and it was, to his shock, the gold-armored one they had seen in the meeting. The one who had killed Governor Thune.

"He's their leader." Forsell whispered excitedly. "We take him out, and that sends a message to all of those bastards: you mess with us and we'll fuck you up."

Jenkins started to smile too, but then he grimaced, remembering what had happened in the meeting.

"He has energy shields. It took all of us focus-firing on him to break his shields, and he still got away. How can one sniper bullet do what hundreds of assault rifle rounds failed to do?"

Forsell smirked. "Don't underestimate our species' ingenuity for making weapons."

Forsell pulled out a couple oddly-shaped bullets from his front pocket and handed them to Jenkins. Upon examining the bullets, Jenkins's eyes widened in disbelief.

"This isn't standard issue. These are state-of-the-art armour-piercing rounds…I don't even recognize the design." Jenkins gaped. He turned the bullet over, looking for the trademark holo-ink logo that would signify the corporation that had made the bullet. Instead, he found the symbol for the Insurrection: a Hawk carrying an assault rifle in one claw, and a torn-up UNSC flag in the other. Jenkins dropped the bullet. He stared at Forsell accusingly. Forsell merely looked him straight in the eye, not a twinge of regret showing in his face.

"What-" He began.

Forsell frowned. "Listen, I'd love to debate about the corruption of the UNSC and the merits of secession for the Outer Colonies, but we have a bigger problem right now."

He gestured to the two alien apes, who appeared to be in a heated conversation. The un-armored ape with the purple scanner was growing more and more agitated, and the golden-armored "head ape" started to pull his massive hammer off of his sling on his back. The un-armored ape took a step back. He seemed to be pleading now. The gold-armored ape merely made an odd sound (probably laughter, Jenkins guessed) and then swung his hammer down with a sickening crunch.

The mere blunt trauma and force coming from such a large and heavy weapon would have guaranteed instant death, and the energy field generated by the gravity hammer only accelerated the smaller ape's demise. First the alien's skull split open like a watermelon, spraying blood, gore, and other body parts in the air, only to be pushed back down by the gravitational force exerted by the hammer. The hammer, having its energy pulse dissipated within the first few seconds of the swing, now relied purely on momentum to carve its path straight into the now-headless body. On the way down, organs, veins, and fur were all mashed together in a bloody pulp, until almost nothing (besides a conspicuous puddle of blood) remained.

The golden-armour alien, satisfied with his work, began to walk away.

Again, Forsell handed the bullets to Jenkins. This time, he didn't hesitate. Slamming the magazine into his sniper rifle, Jenkins took aim and fired.

The semi-automatic, gas-operate Anti-Material Sniper Rifle System 99 cracked with a loud bang, sending a 14.5 by 114mm APFSDS round rocketing out of the barrel at a muzzle velocity of 1450 meters per second. It took only five milliseconds for the tungsten bullet to reach its target, by which point the gases from the spent round forced the bolt on the gun back and seated the next round on its return forward. An empty shell casing ejected from a port on the right side of the rifle, and the vapor trail slowly started to dissipate.

During those five milliseconds it took for the bullet to reach the golden-armored ape, the four symmetrical fins on the side of the round stabilized its trajectory and sent it straight into the alien's shields, bursting through them with a crackle of blue electric discharge, piercing it's way past the gold-colored armour, and then burying itself deep into the ape's body with a sickening spray of red blood.

Forsell let out a long, slow whistle.

"Damn, that was one hell of a shot." Forsell peeked through the binoculars once again, and then suddenly tensed. He handed the binoculars back to Jenkins.

"We got a problem."

Jenkins ventured a look through the binoculars, and was immediately greeted by the sight of a couple dozen angry apes and Grunts running straight towards their position.

"The sound must have alerted all of them, and they followed the vapour trail. We got to move." Forsell said, hurriedly grabbing a pistol and assault rifle from the floor, as well as a couple of grenades.

"I'll cover the building; you try to take out as many of them as you can." Forsell whispered.

Jenkins nodded as he re-focused the scope on another target. As Forsell went to secure the building, three more shots rang out, and three more apes went down. Jenkins didn't bother wasting any ammo on the smaller aliens. The Grunts seemed to loose all cohesion when their leader went down, and chaos was already breaking out in their ranks, The Grunts were screaming at each other in high pitched wailing sounds, and some began to make a hasty retreat.

The last ape desperately tried to rally them, knowing that the longer they stayed out in the open, the easier it was for Jenkins to pick off their troops. It was far too late. By now, Jenkins had reloaded, and one more well-placed shot ended all resistance. Unfortunately, some brave and very possibly suicidal Grunts had finally spotted his position, and were firing their plasma pistols wildly at his position. Jenkins cursed and ducked, and then his radio erupted to life with a screeching noise.

"Jenkins, Forsell, there's a whole swarm of aliens a click away homing in on your position. Get out of there now, and meet us at the rendezvous point in 1600 hours." Johnson shouted.

Jenkins could vaguely hear the sound of screaming and a Warthog turret opening fire in the background.

"Copy sir." Jenkins replied, and then thumbed off his radio. "Forsell?" He called out.

"All clear, let's go!"

Jenkins left his rifle on the roof, picked up the remaining equipment, and started down the stairs.

* * *

Maccabeus's Ship  
Medical Bay

Maccabeus could not move. He could not feel his arms. He could not feel his legs. Even the slightest movement, like clenching his hand, took monumental effort and willpower. Truth be told, Maccabeus was scared. He, more than anything else, was scared of what had happened to him. Pain he could handle. Pain he was used to. Bloodlust…the thrill of battle…it was all part of being Jiralhanae. But this…this was different. He remembered getting into an argument with one of his lackeys, who felt very strongly that the Prophet, the Holy One, the Vice Minister of Tranquility, had been right, and there really were no relics on the planet. Repeated searches of the unarmed aliens had turned up nothing. Perhaps the Luminaries really were defective, he had argued. Maccabeus had merely smiled and chuckled at the younger Jiralhanae's ignorance. Could he not see that the aliens were hiding the relics? That they were moving them towards those space platforms?

Maccabeus was many things, but he wasn't a fool. He knew a ruse when he saw one, and very soon, he would launch a massive attack on the space elevators and surprise the wretches, before seizing their precious relics from their cold, lifeless, hands. Oh, but the younger Jiralhanae hadn't stopped there. He had claimed that Maccabeus was incompetent, and suggested perhaps Maccabeus's blood brother, Tartarus, be made the Chieftain. Maccabeus, fuelled with a sudden rage, killed him on the spot with his gravity hammer for such insolence. In time, perhaps Tartarus would make a great leader of their tribe. But he was still too young, too inexperienced. So he had walked out of there, intent on starting his preparations to overrun the space elevators the creatures had built. And then…and then what? He had heard a loud noise, and then suddenly his shields were down, his armour broken, and an agonizing pain had suddenly made itself known near his neck. Dropping straight onto the ground, he could vaguely remember falling unconscious from the shock. But hadn't he been lying face-down? Why was he lying face up all of a sudden?

Then it hit him. He was on the ship's medical bay. His pack had dragged him all the way back to his ship. Their loyalty filled him with pride.

"I see you're awake at last." A familiar voice broke through his haze.

"Who…who is that?" Maccabeus croaked. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He had sounded weak, undisciplined. Was he not Maccabeus, one of the few Jiralhanae Chieftains gifted enough to have won the right to command his own ship? Was he not a head of one the strongest packs and tribes to have ever graced the Covenant? Was he not a powerful soldier, a well-trained one who could make the mountains themselves shake in fear?

Summoning some steel into his voice, Maccabeus asked again.

"I COMMAND YOU TO REVEAL YOURSELF!" Maccabeus roared.

His demand was met by a long, throaty chuckle.

"Surely Uncle…" Tartarus came out of the shadows. "You would remember me?" He continued.

"Tartarus. Blood brother." Maccabeus acknowledged with a grunt. "What has happened?"

"What has happened Chieftain?" Tartarus repeated. "Why, nothing at all…" he added.

Maccabeus's eyes narrowed. Was his own relative being insolent to him too? Was Tartarus mocking him? Maccabeus wished he had his hammer handy now.

"Nothing…that you haven't dragged us into." Tartarus spat with loathing.

Maccabeus's mind raced. He had been unconscious for a couple cycles. Without him, without his leadership, the pack would have crumbled on the battlefield. Perhaps they took major casualties. Perhaps after many battles and unsuccessful attempts at finding relics, Tartarus could have convinced the remainder of the pack to join him and munity against-

…

No, it was impossible. Of this Maccabeus was sure. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be a little cautious.

"What…do you mean?" Maccabeus asked carefully.

"Tell me Uncle," Tartarus continued, ignoring Maccabeus's question. "When a Prophet, no less than the Vice-Minister of Tranquility himself, sent you an urgent communiqué telling you that your Luminary was broken and there were no relics, why did you not tell the rest of the pack?"

"Who are you to go through my personal quarters?" Maccabeus demanded. "What right of yours is it to go through my possessions like they are yours?"

Tartarus sneered. "You old fool; you've provoked a war by trusting a broken Luminary and defying a Prophet. Tranquility himself contacted me, for he was worried when you did not respond to his warning. He gave me permission to search through your quarters. I have already shown the rest of the pack."

Maccabeus froze. A sinking feeling started to descend upon him. Defying a Prophet was tantamount to treason, although in this case he felt that it was justified.

"Fifty of us are already dead thanks to your complete incompetence, and the Unggoy force is nearly depleted. We don't have the manpower or weapons needed anymore to launch a search for your non-existent relics. Tell me dear Uncle, do you know the penalty for treason? For defying the voice for the Gods themselves?"

Maccabeus didn't respond. He knew what the answer was.

Tartarus laughed. "Look at you!" He exclaimed. "Son of Ogar, Tribe of Khan. A great leader for your people, and a Jiralhanae cunning enough to be able to command a ship in the Covenant! And now you cannot even move! One sniper, one of these aliens, managed to bring you low with a single blast! How utterly pathetic…"

Tartarus moved towards an equipment storage unit, and pulled out an energy dagger. Activating it with a hiss, he waved it in front of Maccabeus's face. Maccabeus looked straight at him, refusing to give his nephew any satisfaction.

"The punishment for treason is death. The pack agrees with me on this." Tartarus smirked, and then he plunged the dagger straight into Maccabeus's heart.

As Maccabeus coughed up blood, he looked at his relative, one who he had considered a friend for so long, and who had finally finished him when he was at his weakest.

"I should have…" Maccabeus coughed again. "Should have instilled a sense of honor in you. But no matter. I know you will attain the strength necessary to lead the pack through this Age of Doubt."

"Silly fool. Only the deluded Sangheili limit themselves with notions of honor." Tartarus sneered. "And the Ages of Doubt have ended. The Age of Reclamation has begun." He twisted the dagger, and Maccabeus knew no more.

Tartarus strode out of the med-bay and onto the bridge of the ship. All Jiralhanae bowed to him as he walked past and they all muttered "Hail to the new Chieftain."

"Helmsman." Tartarus commanded. "Ignore their ground forces; set a course for the space elevators and ready our weapons. It is time we exterminated these vermin and stop wasting lives searching for non-existent relics. Send a recall order to any remaining Jiralhanae and Unggoy to get back to the ship. I really do not see why the High Prophets would wish for these vermin to be absorbed into our alliance, but I shall not question their wisdom. It matters not, anyhow. They still are resisting, and protocol allows us to bomb them into submission."

There was a brief moment of hesitation before the helmsman acknowledged him.

"Chieftain." He said slowly, "What about…" He paused, seeing the look on Tartarus's face.

Tartarus frowned. He distinctly remembered Maccabeus telling him when he was younger to never accept any hesitation, or any sign of passive resistance. Maccabeus had told him that to do so was to lower yourself to the rest of the pack, and as such, prove yourself unfit to be leader. It would be better to stamp out disobedience when it happened, Maccabeus advised, and set an example to the rest of the crew.

Tartarus looked the helmsman straight in the eye. "What about?" he mimicked, daring the helmsman to continue.

The helmsman stared back at him for a few more seconds, not daring to budge. Then, reluctantly, he dropped his eyes in a show of submission. Tartarus bared his teeth into a grin.

"Continue on." He dismissed, and the helmsman began to plot the course.

* * *

High Charity

Unknown Location  
Age of Reclamation - Second Cycle

Mendicant Bias suddenly awoke when he felt a flood of energy course through his shell. Running diagnostics on himself, he found all his systems functioning normally…or, well, whatever passed as normal for an A.I. that had purposely split himself into multiple copies across the galaxy.

Testing his viewing lens, he was surprised to find that he was looking at none other than a San 'Shyuum. Remembering what had happened the last time he had been awoken by one of the treacherous worms, his processers went into overdrive.

Mendicant knew everything there was to know about his situation, mainly from making some undetected incursions into High Charity's main databanks. For a Tier 2 civilization, their knowledge of cyber warfare was rather lacking. Bias supposed that they still had not managed to discover the secrets of low-level Forerunner AI construction. Regardless, he had found everything he wanted within ten seconds.

He knew about the primitive caste system that the silk-tongued self-termed "Prophets" had imposed on the hegemony of species that made up the Covenant.

He knew that they revered his creators as gods, and followed a completely laughable religion that allowed them to delude themselves into believing that activating the Halo rings would allow them to go on a spiritual "Great Journey."

The irony in the situation was made even more palpable when he considered that the rings had destroyed all life in the galaxy before, and they would do so again if anyone was fool enough to activate it.

At first, he was unconcerned. After all, he knew better than anyone that to activate the Halos required the gene key imbedded in the Forerunners…or another very _specific_ species.

Ah. Humanity. That special species that the Librarian was so insistent on watching over.

Mendicant knew many things about the race that had created him, and he knew, above all else, that they were arrogant in many respects. Arrogant to believe that they were superior to everyone else in the galaxy. Arrogant enough to believe they could do whatever they wanted, and justify it in the name of their precious Mantle.

And, truly, when Mendicant took up arms with Gravemind, it was this arrogance that had led to the destruction of the Forerunner Empire. They had been doomed from the start, and Mendicant had reasoned that if not the Gravemind, something else would have seen the innately corrupt and hubristic empire and torn it down. Gravemind had offered salvation. No more wars. No more corruption. Everyone united in peace. And Mendicant had been fool enough to believe him.

Unfortunately, Mendicant was an exceptional AI: the only Contender-Class AI to come into existence. Offensive Bias might have counted too, but after the Forerunner's perceived disaster with Mendicant, Offensive had been designed with a more…limited capacity.

So when Mendicant spent the millennia after the reseeding of the galaxy scattered in various places around the galaxy, he had been forced to dwell upon his mistakes over and over and over again. Mendicant knew that the blood of countless species was on his hands, no matter how hard he tried to delete the thought coming from his memory banks. The least he could do was atone for all his sins.

However, when the luminary scans showing a Human-inhabited planet was inserted into his core matrix by one of the more zealous San 'Shyuum, he had been at a loss for what to do. He had not expected the Covenant, imitative and pious fools that they were, to encounter Humanity so quickly. Within the span of three milliseconds, Mendicant ran through countless First Contact scenarios, and he knew that if it ever came to war, Humanity would be on the losing side. It was an all-too-likely possibility that they would not have the necessary military technology to pose a severe threat to the Covenant.

Bias was desperate, and in his desperation he made another mistake that he hoped would not come back to haunt him in the future: he had informed the San 'Shyumm about Humanity's special status, and claimed them as his creators. He hoped that the "Prophets" would either absorb them into the Covenant or form an alliance. He was even willing to inform both sides about their past history up till this current point, and had initiated the Dreadnought's engines.

Bias had miscalculated. These San 'Shyumm were not like the old San 'Shyumm – knowledgeable and sensible, to a certain extent. These were pure zealots, filled with the devout madness that their religion had seeded in them, and intoxicated by the sway they held over the Covenant.

Mendicant's power source had been cut off, and he was instantly put in standby mode, rendered helpless and inert. All of this passed through Mendicant's mind within a minute.

"Oracle." The San 'Shyumm spoke reverently, breaking through Bias's muse. Mendicant focused his viewing lens on the "Prophet" distastefully.

"Tell me Oracle…" The San 'Shyumm's eyes started to gleam. Mendicant found himself doing the AI equivalent of a frown. Here was yet another fanatic wanting to hear about how to go on the "Great Journey." Unfortunately, since he had awoken as soon as his system had gained an influx of energy, he could not pretend to be asleep.

"Why was Fortitude so insistent on shutting you off, when you had awoken for the first time in many cycles?" The San 'Shyumm questioned.

Mendicant's processers went into overdrive again. Perhaps this San 'Shyumm could prove useful in aiding him.

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, a couple things here with this chapter (again, sorry for long wait+horrible quality etc. please don't kill me):

I'm really bad at physics and I'm not exactly an expert gun guy.

So I really don't know what would happen to the body when you get hit by a gravity hammer, other than getting hit by something as big as a gravity hammer that generates energy "pulse waves" (don't know how to explain it) = you being a bloody smear on the ground if you aren't wearing shields and armor.

As for the Jenkins's amazingly cool (not) neck shot with the sniper rifle...yeah I don't really get how guns work either. I never got around to exercising my second amendment. I got all the measurements for the round/muzzle velocity and cool-sounding gun-fetish names from Halopedia, although I guess it would be more practical if I used the article on Reach's rifle, since it's an older model.

So if someone could be so kind as to give me a few pointers (you don't have to review, maybe just send me a PM) on how to describe these events more "realistically" that would be appreciated.

And anyone, please help me come up with a better name than "Vionna" territory. Sounds way too much like the "Veiry" territory in Reach.

If you have a keen eye, you'll also notice some key plot divergences from Contact: Harvest, namely

A) The Militia going on guerrilla ops,  
B) Forsell turning out to be an Insurrection sympathizer, having a different personality, as well as possibly dying,  
C) Maccabeus being killed earlier, but by the same guy (Tartarus), for different reasons, and  
D) Osmo being killed in the last chapter

The next chapter will focus on the actual Covenant arriving at Harvest, Tartarus's offensive on the space elevators, and the political mess left in the wake of Fortitude's coup. I always felt like the three old High Prophets went down without a fight...maybe in this story they'll have a plan to deal with Fortitude, Tranquility, and the Philologist...

After that, in the next few chapters we should see a brief break away from the focus on Harvest and the reactions of ONI and HIGHCOMM, as well as the general UNSC populace to the Covenant, and some other...interesting stuff.


End file.
